Number Five Girl
by smilelikey0umeanit
Summary: A one-shot in which Gerry makes a list of the ladies in his life and Sandra's conscience takes over. Rated T for lots of bad language during an almighty argument.


**A/N: I couldn't remember the names of Gerry's ex-wives for the life in me so I made educated guesses xD This is entirely based around an idea that randomly popped into my head at midnight. It's told firstly from Sandra's perspective, then mainly Gerry's. Enjoy and please feel free to leave a review!**

**Disclaimer: I will always be too poor to own New Tricks.**

She strode down the corridors of the Met furiously, without a thought for who she might walk into or hit in the face with a door. _God, that bastard had made her angry. _She was the wrong side of fifty, for heaven's sake, couldn't she just have a normal relationship with a man who actually respected her, who didn't practically trash her living room whilst on a drunken rant and who definitely didn't go around sleeping with other women? Is she a magnet for idiotic, arrogant, cheating men? Most of her so-called friends from Hendon had been happily married for twenty years now; whereas she still felt like a teenager in terms of relationships.

However, she thanked her lucky stars, she would never be as childish as that Cockney prat who was throwing balls of paper at Brian and Steve as she walked into the office at twice her normal speed. She knew where his juvenile mood and stupidly happy look had come from, she'd had the misfortune to witness it before. He had a new woman. _Great._ Just what she needed when she'd spent most of the night shouting at the man she could now call her ex.

"Who is she?" she called. Gerry paused mid-paper throw. "Who's who?" he replied chirpily.

"Your new woman," she clarified. He momentarily looked confused, before blaming her apparent psychic powers on female intuition. "Rita," he said, pausing for dramatic effect and instantly being greeted with an eye-roll from his superior.

"Go on," she threw her coat and bag on the rack in her office, sitting heavily in her desk chair.

"Well, she's fifty two, petite, strawberry blonde hair, likes cooking and Chelsea, we're practically soulmates we have so much in common," he chorused, "and she even drinks beer!"

Sandra shook her head. _Not again. _"So basically she's a short half-ginger woman who is too young for you and spends all her time watching football in the pub or slaving away in the kitchen. Sounds lovely."

"Oi, don't talk about her like that before you've even met her!" he seemed seriously offended by her comment. Perhaps she'd said it a little more harshly than she'd intended, but she was just telling the truth, wasn't she?

"Gerry, I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just trying to…" he cut her off before she could even think of the right words. "Sandra, stop bloody making excuses for yourself. You were being rude actually, I realise that you might not have the social skills to know this, but normal people don't insult other people's girlfriends before they've even met them." _God, he could be a patronising bastard when he wanted to be, and to lecture her on social skills? He couldn't even string a sentence together in Standard English for Christ's sake!_

"How the hell can you talk to me about social skills you Cockney idiot?!" she yelled in frustration. She was definitely not in the mood for an argument, and neither, it seemed, were Steve and Brian, who had retreated to safety behind their desks.

"Sandra, you haven't got the first bloody clue about how to treat people properly! That's why all your boyfriends bugger off at the first opportunity!"

_Oh, now he really was riling her, given the recent circumstances. _She decided to put away the hurt, lonely Sandra and bring out Dectective Superintendent Sandra Pullman."Gerry, you know what, you can just piss off. I really do not need your crappy attitude the first thing in the morning, and if you think you can get away with making personal comments like that then you're sadly mistaken. Take the rest of the day off and come back tomorrow, if I decide you still have a job to come back to." With that, she slammed her office door and returned to her little sanctuary, away from Gerry Standing and the rest of the annoying world.

"Who'd want to work for an evil, cold-hearted bitch like you anyway?" he returned, grabbing his coat, car keys and fags and striding out, slamming the door behind him similarly.

Brian and Steve exchanged looks before swiftly returning to their paperwork. Facing the wrath of Sandra was not an option they would like to consider.

* * *

It was nearing midnight, yet the considerate side of Sandra was keeping her awake, worrying about what the professional, cold, clinical side of her had done to her friendship with Gerry. Normally after their arguments, he would take a few hours to calm down, then come to her house to clear the air. But her subconscious and his absence told her that this argument was worse than the others for some reason. They had both directly insulted the other, and she had insulted Gerry's new girlfriend. She knew it was unacceptable, but she was simply trying to protect him from adding to his chain of failed relationships. She had learnt her lesson last night.

Deciding that she wasn't going to sleep thanks to the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind, she decided to do something she had hardly ever done before. She was going to apologise to Gerry Standing.

* * *

He was rudely disturbed from his contemplation in front of the TV with a pint by a loud knock on his front door. _Ah, here she is, come to beg my forgiveness at last._ Begging wasn't really her style. More like demanding. He opened the door cheerily. "Evening, guv'nor," he plastered a fake grin on his face. "What are you doing here at this time? A little late, isn't it?"

She took a deep breath. "I've err…come to apologise, I suppose, but…I think you should too," He noticed how she couldn't meet his eyes. She knew she was in the wrong.

"You'd better come in then," he stood back, inviting her into his home with a sarcastic flourish.

She stepped over the threshold and wandered into his living room, feeling like a stranger in his usually welcoming house.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to the sofa. He sat on the armchair in the corner, facing her. He leant back, trying to exude an aura of calm: of course he didn't care that he and his best friend had just had a potentially relationship-wrecking argument and that she was perched on his sofa looking like she wanted to simultaneously murder him and run for the hills. _Why should he be the one bloody apologising anyway? She was the one who'd started the whole bloody thing. _

"Go on then." He opened bluntly.

"I'm not entirely to blame, you know. You give as good as you get, Gerry." She said, without her eyes leaving the floor. _Why did she have to say his name like that, with that little lilt at the end?_ It drove him mad, in more ways than one. He almost chuckled as he realised that the word 'sorry' would also have the same lilt, if it was ever to be spoken by her.

"I don't think I even want you to apologise. You've just highlighted what I already knew." She finally summoned the courage to meet his eyes. _Oh for heaven's sake, now she'd started with the whole self-pity thing._ The opportunity to show her how much she meant to him, to all of their little family, was one he could rarely resist. He could tell she was waiting for him to reply with something reassuring. Well, he'd damned if he forgave her so easily this time. But the tense silence was killing him.

"You're still my number five girl," he finally said, repeating something he'd said to her whilst drunk, last week at the pub. _What the hell have you gone and said that for, you prat?_ He cursed himself. _That bloody infuriating woman._

Last week she had been too drunk to understand what he meant, but this time she pulled a face, fully understanding the fact that he was trying to get back in her good books. _Why did men always have to list things?_ Obviously he'd sorely underestimated how easily she was able to forgive him. "I'm not a girl, don't you have a list of women as well?"

"Fine then, you're my…" he paused to mentally rank the women in his life, "number one woman."

She frowned in confusion. "How'd you work that out? What about the women who've raised your children since the day they were born?"

"Nah, they've been a pain in the arse since day one," he smiled, covering his inner turmoil. He was being mentally assaulted with memories of all the times he'd argued with his ex-wives. That was why Sandra was his number one. With Sandra he could shout at her and she would take it, whereas Jayne would burst into tears immediately, Alison would run away and Carol would use Paula as ammunition. He hated himself for hurting them. It made him ashamed.

"Well Gerry, I'm truly privileged. Should I make a speech?" she joked, hiding the fact that Sandra 'heart of stone' Pullman was actually touched by the revelation that she was someone's number one woman.

"No, just an apology would do," he remarked. _Shit. _The moment of humour that had passed between them had once again been replaced with awkwardness and an odd atmosphere; not quite dislike, but a weariness of each other and their irritating ways.

"Look, Sandra," he cut her off before she had chance to speak. "All I want is for you to apologise to me and I will apologise to you. I understand that I overstepped the line. I'm sorry."

He gestured for her to return the apology with an ever-so-slightly patronising expression, like he was teaching a child how to use good manners. She slumped back in her seat, sighing. A couple of minutes passed as she stared out of the window and seemingly into space. He continued to stare at her condescendingly, eyebrows raised. Finally she repented.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"Thank you Sandra. That's all I wanted." He offered his hand out to her.

She rolled her eyes. "Will you stop talking to me like I'm a bloody child?"

He was so tempted to reply with "Only if you stop acting like one" but he refrained. _Give and take, Gerald, give and take. _Instead he merely shrugged. "Fair enough," he reasoned, "but you'll have to be relegated from the women's list on to the girl's one I'm afraid."

"I'll take what I can get," she replied. He cautiously welcomed the return of their normal relationship-it had boundaries, insults were constantly fired between them, she would always be in control, but it was theirs, and it was unique.

"Are we alright?" he asked somewhat tentatively. She still hadn't taken his outstretched hand.

She paused to think, looking upwards and putting her hand on her chin comically before breaking out into a huge, slightly crazy smile. She leant forward and shook his hand with a firm grasp. "I suppose so, Gerald."

He brandished a bottle of wine from the side of his chair and two wine glasses from beneath the seat. After he poured them both a generous measure, she proposed a toast. "To Gerald, my favourite tosser," she smirked, briefly meeting his eyes before downing half of the wine in one swift gulp.

He too raised his glass in toast, although his was to be slightly more serious. "To Sandra, my number five girl."


End file.
